Sorry again - had to fly across the country yesterday, so was a little busy...
At three minutes to 1, the radio in the blue LTD crackled to life. "It's a go, fellas. It's a go."
Bobby Cox looked across the back seat at Steve and nodded grimly as he opened the door and got out. With a frustrated sigh, the homicide inspector slumped down in the seat, watching his colleague start down Harrison. It was going to be a frustrating wait.
The minutes seemed to crawl by; he was getting antsy. At one point he opened the door and started to get out, then thought better of it and slammed the door angrily. He knew if he showed up at Coopers or the bodega before this initial raid had taken place that he would have to answer to authorities even higher than his partner, and facing Mike would be hard enough.
He wondered if Mike was awake yet. He hoped not; he hoped that this would all be over and done with and he could get back to the hospital without his partner even being aware that anything had happened.
He sat up and looked at the radio under the dashboard as if willing it to spring to life and let him know what was going on. Then with a short, low growl he opened the door and got out, slamming the door and starting down the street.
He was glancing around as he walked through the late lunch crowd down Harrison to the corner, now only a few short blocks from Coopers. He had no intention of barging in on the incursion; he just wanted to observe from a safe distance.
He started to slow down as he got to the corner, reaching into his jacket pocket to pull out this pack of Marlboros and Zippo, using the ruse of lighting a cigarette to stop. He looked up from under his lowered brow in the direction of the bar and bodega but could see no discernibly abnormal activity. He hoped it was all going very smoothly and very safely.
He turned away, exhaling heavily, letting the smoke drift off in the soft cool breeze. He was about to start back up the street and away from the bar when a brand new cherry red Mustang pulled into a parking space up the block across the street from him. The flashy car caught his eye and he stepped into an office entranceway, instinct telling him that he needed to conceal himself.
He watched as the door opened and the driver emerged. He froze, every hair on the back of his neck standing on end. It was Danny, the bartender.
He watched as the tall, dark, muscular young man locked the car then started casually towards 8th, jamming the keys in his front jeans pocket, seemingly unaware of the events going on at his place of work. Danny turned the corner, heading towards Howard; Steve stepped out of the doorway and began to follow, hanging back and trying to remain hidden behind two tall businessmen carrying briefcases and talking animatedly.
Danny got to the corner, took a couple of steps, and froze. Steve did as well, ducking into another office doorway. The bartender was staring down Howard, towards Coopers, Steve knew, and his body language almost screamed panic. Danny took several small steps backwards then turned with a feigned casualness that belied the look of alarm in his eyes and started back up 8th.
Steve faced the office front door, pretending to light another cigarette but keeping his eyes on the reflection of the street behind him in the glass of the building doors. Danny walked past him quickly, oblivious to everything, it seemed, except the overpowering need to get back to his car and get out of there.
Taking the chance, knowing he had no other choice, Steve stepped out of the doorway and began to follow. He saw a slight twitch of the other man's head and ducked behind a businessman walking in front of him just as Danny dared a quick, almost frantic glance over his shoulder.
Reaching the corner of Harrison again, Danny started to break into a slow jog, trying to make it look like he was just in a hurry, not in a growing dread-filled haste to get out of the area. He fished unsuccessfully in his pocket for his keys, then had to waste several precious seconds stopping to get them out; his pants were too tight to do it on the move.
Using the opportunity, Steve turned the other way when he got to the corner and strode quickly towards the LTD. He didn't have the keys on him, but he knew a backup key was secreted in the glove box for just such an emergency.
As Danny got to the Mustang and fumbled to open the door, Steve got behind the wheel of the LTD, reaching across the front seat to pop open the glove box, pulling up the left corner of the carpeted bottom of the small compartment and picking up the key. He winced as he sat up straight again, annoyed at himself for giving in to the pain in his ribs.
He started the LTD just as Danny pulled away from the curb and headed down Harrison. He waited till the sports car was almost to the next corner before he turned the wheel as hard as he could, stepping on the gas and rocketing the large sedan into the street and cutting off a taxi, which honked loudly. He hoped Danny hadn't noticed the move, or heard the angry blast of the horn, in the rearview mirror but he really had no other choice.
But when the Mustang signaled then turned sedately onto11th, he knew he hadn't been seen. He followed at a discreet distance as the bartender drove calmly through the streets towards Van Ness and north. Eventually turning onto California, heading west, Steve dropped back even more; though the LTD was a fairly nondescript car, eventually its close proximity would be noticed. Caution was the watchword right now.
He glanced down at the radio under the dash, reaching for the mic then stopped. What he was doing, he knew, went against everything he had been warned about with regards to the department's current campaign. He had just broken every order he had been given by becoming involved. If he couldn't bring this little operation of his to a successful conclusion, he'd have to answer to more than just his partner, Newman and Jenkins. He would have to answer to the Chief.
# # # # #
The room was bright when he opened his eyes and he squinted, trying to get his bearings. He could feel the heavy blanket on top of him and the needle in his right forearm. He raised his head slightly and looked around the room.
"Damn," he whispered to himself as he let his head drop back onto the bed and closed his eyes. He hadn't wanted to be admitted to the hospital but he didn't really have a choice, and then when he fell asleep almost immediately after his head hit the pillow…
He knew Newman had been right to insist he be checked out by a doctor; it had been a harrowing two days of sedation, dehydration and exposure to a bitter and damp cold, not to mention being bound and confined. And he certainly wasn't as young as he used to be; he didn't snap back quite so quickly.
He opened his eyes again and followed the tube from his arm up to the bag hanging from the IV pole. It was clear and he was pretty sure it was a saline solution. He remembered the doctor ordering fluids when he was sitting on the examination table with Steve hovering nearby.
Steve, he thought, looking quickly around the small room; it was obvious his partner wasn't there. He laid his head back on the pillow again. He had no idea what time it was; his watch had been removed when he'd been admitted. He knew it was in the drawer of the small bedside table, but he was suddenly too drained to reach for it.
The past two days had taken more out of him than he had realized, or cared to admit. He was tired and he was cold. With his left hand, he reached down to pull the blanket a little higher; it felt heavier than he remembered hospital blankets being. He looked down; it was the gray blanket he had been given by the Coast Guard.
Smiling to himself, he pulled it up as far as he could, keeping his right arm with the IV on top, and closed his eyes again. Within seconds he was fast asleep.
# # # # #
The Mustang turned off California onto Palm Avenue and began to slow down, as if the driver was looking for an address or a place to park. Steve looked down Palm as he drove unhurriedly through the intersection, watching as the red sports car turned into a free spot about a block and a half down. He pulled the LTD to the curb on California and got out; he didn't care that it was in front of a fire hydrant.
He sprinted back to the corner in time to see Danny get out of the Mustang and head into a house on the west side of the street. He wasn't able to see which door, and he didn't want to get too close; he knew he would be recognized.
Frustrated, he stood just out of the sightlines of the row of dwellings on that side of the block. He had to decide what to do and he had to decide fast. He contemplated going back to the LTD and calling it in, asking for back-up, but pride was getting the better of him at the moment.
He had been sidelined for his own good he knew, but it still rankled him that now both he and his partner were no longer in charge of an investigation that they had initiated. And through neither of their own faults, he reflected almost angrily.
Almost subconsciously he put a hand on his taped ribs; he was still very sore and would be no match for anyone in a physical confrontation right now. He knew he would have to use his head. If there was one thing above all else he had learned from Mike in all the years they had been together, it was the value of coming up with a good plan of attack and keeping your head about you while putting it in motion.
His main disadvantage at the moment was that Danny knew him by sight. Not only that, but the bartender – and point man in the Shanghai operation, as Mike had put it – was now on the run and would be becoming increasingly paranoid. He would be hyper vigilant, aware of everyone and everything around him. And that was not something Steve could take lightly.
He exhaled heavily in frustration, hoping he had not backed himself into a corner. Looking for inspiration, he let his eyes travel around the houses and businesses on the streets around him. He froze and his eyes widened. He turned slowly and looked back down Palm; the red sports car was still there.
With a self-satisfied smile and a nod, he hurried the half-block to the small shop on California and pulled open the glass door. A small bell chimed to announce his entrance.
# # # # #
A little more than ten minutes later, the glass door opened once more, and as the little bell rang again, a clean-shaven Steve Keller stepped out into the bright but chilly afternoon sunshine. He strode quickly to the corner and looked down the street.
The Mustang was still parked at the curb.